


Brothers in Arms

by zathara001



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate beginning to the series. No slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing pertaining to Supernatural except my deepest admiration and gratitude to the talented creators -- writers, directors, producers, actors, technical crew -- who have made such a wonderful story. And a few fantasies, but we won't talk about those. All rights in this work are hereby given to those who do own Supernatural.
> 
> This was originally posted at FF.Net back in (checks) June 2010. Holy tomato, time flies like a bird, doesn't it? This is the latest in my ongoing sporadic posting of old work to both archives.

_Show me the boy of seven, and I will show you the man._

 

The Jesuits, much as Sam Winchester hated to admit it, were right. Though he'd left his childhood behind with his father and brother when he got a full scholarship to Stanford, those early influences lingered.  He'd given in to the inner voice that whispered, "Know your enemy.  Know what you hunt," and signed up for the class, "Demonology and Possession in Western Thought."

 

His father would be proud, Sam thought sourly, but at least it would be an easy A. He found a seat near the back of the room for the first class.  He told himself he didn't want to block anyone else's view of the instructor, but deep down, he knew it was as much hunter's instincts as courtesy that prompted him to choose a seat where he could observe the entire classroom.

 

He observed not just the room, but also the students as they arrived, singly or in small friend-groups. Habit honed by a life spent hunting had him evaluating and classifying everyone who came in, from the football jock who tried to give off a "just folks" air to a girl who crept to a seat and therefore drew more of the attention that she didn't want than she would have had she simply walked in.

 

"Is that seat taken?"

 

Startled, Sam looked up to see a girl standing beside him. How had she gotten that close without his noticing?   When he remained silent too long -- really just a few seconds -- she raised an eyebrow and nodded to the desk next to his.

 

"Sorry," he said.

 

She slipped past him and into the empty chair. "It is now."

 

Sam took the moment to study her. She was about his age, a freshman or a sophomore, most likely, and attractive enough that sitting beside her all quarter wouldn't be any sort of hardship.  She had a quiet air about her, almost as if she were broadcasting a "don't notice me" signal.

 

"Sam," he said when she was settled into the seat.

 

"Michelle," she replied, and then opened her notebook and began to label the page with far more attention than the task needed.

 

Clearly, she didn't want to talk. Sam took the hint and opened his own notebook.  Still, he couldn't help glancing at her again.  Something told him there was more to her than met the eye.

 

-X-

 

Two weeks into the term, Sam wondered if his instincts had been wrong. Aside from being one of the quieter people he'd ever known, Michelle seemed to be completely normal.  Maybe, he thought once, that was why she set off his hunter's instincts -- he'd so rarely encountered anyone normal. 

 

Michelle kept to herself, though she was friendly to him and to others in class when they noticed her. No boyfriend that he'd observed, nor girlfriend, either, though she had said something about a roommate, once.

 

Just now, Michelle frowned at something Professor Lemieux was saying. Sam focused on the lecture once more.

 

"… claimed not to remember anything that happened while they were possessed," Lemieux was saying.  

 

"I have to disagree with that, Dr. Lemieux," Michelle said.  "You're talking as if this was all some kind of fantasy on these people's parts."

 

"Surely you're not suggesting that possession is real." Lemieux frowned at her, but Sam thought it was more from lack of recognition than disapproval of what she'd said.

 

"Whether it's objectively 'real' or not," Michelle said, "it was real to them."

 

There was a conviction in her tone Sam hadn't heard before, and his instincts screamed to life, taunting him for doubting them.

 

Lemieux gave her a tolerant smile. "So -- what?   We know the mind can play tricks on the body.  What difference does it make if they honestly believed they were possessed or not?"

 

"Maybe none," Michelle admitted. "But if it happened to me, I'd want to think that people who studied my experience, wanted to learn from it, might treat me and what I'd gone through with a little respect."

 

Sam didn't pay attention to Lemieux's response. His instincts had sharpened into certainty.  It had happened to Michelle -- whether she'd been possessed, or had known someone who was possessed, or had some other encounter with the things that went bump in the night, something had happened that gave her sympathy for others who'd had similar experiences. 

 

He wanted to talk to her. Though he'd left that part of his life behind, some part of him wanted to talk to someone who, unlike his father or his brother, might actually understand some of his conflicted feelings about it.

 

That wouldn't happen today, though. He'd been so caught up in his desire to be understood that he'd missed Lemieux dismissing class early.  He'd even missed Michelle's departure.

 

Sam gathered his books and started for the door, his mind turning the puzzle that was Michelle in different directions. Was the "don't notice me" vibe the result of some protective spell?   It made sense, he thought, though he'd never heard of a spell that worked quite that way before.  Where was a class in spellcraft and ritual when he needed one?

 

-X-

 

Despite Sam's resolve, another two weeks passed without his actually speaking to Michelle. Either he'd miss her arrival or her departure or both, and even when he did notice, he never thought to ask her out for coffee.  He wondered if that was a side-effect of whatever spell she had, and if so, how he could counter it.

 

Finally, he summoned all his willpower one morning, focused it on the classroom door where she'd be arriving, intending to stay focused on her until he talked to her.

 

Of course that was the one day she wasn't in class.

 

That was also the last class meeting of the week, so he'd have to cool his frustration until Monday. He'd had lots of practice waiting.

 

In the meantime, Sam planned to take advantage of a rare weekend without a ton of homework or papers due on Monday to clean his apartment and stock his fridge. He didn't know when he'd have another chance, and while he wasn't a neat freak like some people, he did prefer not to live in what his father had once called "trailer trash squalor."

 

By Saturday afternoon, he had the apartment clean, the fridge emptied of incubating science projects, and the last load of laundry done. The only thing left to do was buy food. 

 

Unlike many of his classmates, Sam didn't shop at the convenience store near campus. He'd earned a full scholarship, but there was precious little room in his budget, and the market two miles away had better prices.

 

He saw Michelle in the produce department, inspecting Golden Delicious apples. No time like the present, Sam thought as he crossed to her.

 

"Hey, Michelle."

 

She looked up, and he saw lines of fatigue around her eyes. "Sam.  What are you doing here?"

 

He nodded at his shopping cart. "Groceries.  Despite what they say, college students can't exist just on cafeteria food."

 

Michelle glanced at his cart, and when she looked at him again, there was a hint of humor beneath the fatigue. "I'm not sure TV dinners are much of an improvement."

 

"Better than me trying to cook." Sam summoned his resolve.  "Missed you in class Friday."

 

"Let me guess -- he assigned a huge paper, due next week?"

 

"No. I just -- missed you."  Aware that he sounded more like a lover than an almost-friend, he added, "I mean, you're the nicest seat mate I have this term."

 

Michelle studied him for a long moment, an appraising look, and he forced himself to meet her gaze openly when he wanted to duck his head and fidget. He hadn't felt this awkward around a girl since junior high.  The flush was just beginning to creep above his shirt collar when she said, "My son was sick."

 

Son?   Michelle had a child?  Sam tried not to let his surprise show on his face.   Even more, he tried not to let his disappointment show.  If she were with someone, she wouldn't have any interest in him, not even as a friend.

 

"Nothing serious, I hope," he managed finally.

 

"Ear infection. It just kept him -- and me -- up all night until the drops kicked in."

 

"Couldn't his father help you?" The question was out before Sam thought, but as soon as it was, he was glad he'd asked.

 

Michelle's expression hardened, and for a moment Sam thought he'd dared too much. Then she shrugged.  "I haven't seen his father since the night we made him.  I was young, and caught up in the moment, and -- well, now there's Seth.  What?"

 

Sam realized he was staring and shook his head. "Just -- surprised.  You don't seem --" he broke off, unsure how to continue.

 

"I don't seem like the type for a one-night stand?"

 

"Something like that."

 

"I used to be a bit of a wild child. Not anymore."

 

And that, Sam thought, was the end of that line of questioning. Better to stick to safer topics.  "What about your roommate?  Couldn't she help?"

 

"Jess went away for the weekend." Michelle frowned suddenly.  "I never tell anyone this much about me."

 

"I don't open up easily, either. Where's Seth now?"

 

"Home. I left him with my landlady just long enough for this trip."

 

"Don't take this wrong, but you look like you're about to pass out on your feet. Why don't I watch Seth while you take a nap?"

 

And just why had he made that offer?   You could fit everything he knew about kids onto the head of a pin and still have room for a lot of angels to dance.  But the answer was obvious.  It might be the only chance he'd have of getting to know her a little better.

 

Hope flared in Michelle's eyes for the briefest instant, but then she shook her head. "You must have more interesting things to do on a Saturday night than babysit."

 

"I can skip one night of studying. Besides, it'll be fun.  We'll play a little ball, shoot some hoops…"

 

"He's a little too young to play ball, and a lot too short to shoot hoops." Michelle bit her lip and looked up at him -- not as far as most people had to look, he noted.  She was probably five foot nine, maybe five-ten.

 

"So I move to plan B," Sam said casually. "Keep him happy and quiet, so you can sleep."

 

Michelle's expression was still hesitant, but she nodded slowly. "If you're sure."

 

-X-

 

Seth wasn't just a little too young to play ball, Sam decided. He was too young even to say the word "ball."  Sam guessed the boy hadn't had his second birthday yet.  But he recognized his mother immediately and stretched toward her, almost wriggling out of the landlady's grasp. 

 

Michelle thanked the woman, and nodded at Sam to follow her. He did, carrying both their groceries so Michelle could focus on her son.

 

"He needs to be changed. I'll be right back," Michelle said once the door had closed behind them, and she started down a hallway to, presumably, her bedroom. 

 

Sam stowed the perishables in her fridge, and turned to study the ground-floor apartment. It was as nondescript as the vibes Michelle herself gave off, and Sam found himself checking for other protections on the apartment -- salt spilled across entrances, hex signs, and the like -- but saw none. 

 

Still, he thought, any demon looking for a target would likely slip right past this place and the people within it without even noticing. It took hiding in plain sight to whole new levels of hidden.

 

"He might still be a little cranky, but I changed him, and I fed him before I went to the store."

 

Sam turned at the sound of Michelle's voice. "So all I have to do is lull him to sleep."

 

"We'll see," Michelle said. "He's a little shy with strangers, sometimes."

 

"I'm not a stranger, am I, Seth?" Sam moved closer to them, looked down at the baby resting in Michelle's arms.  "I'm your mom's friend, Sam."

 

"Well, not a friend yet," Michelle said. Sam thought she was trying to tease, but her expression was serious.

 

"Classmate," Sam corrected, then looked at Michelle. "I'd like to be a friend."

 

Michelle leaned down toward her son and asked, "What do you think, Seth?   Can Sam be a friend?"

 

She held the baby out to him, and Sam cradled the bundle in his arms, the weight unfamiliar but somehow comfortable. "Hey, Seth.  You're not going to cry, are you?"

 

Sam held his breath. He'd asked the question in jest, but even as he had, he'd had the fleeting thought that if Seth screamed, Michelle would kick him out and likely never speak to him again.  The thought bothered him for reasons he wasn't yet willing to name, and he waited for Seth's verdict, trying not to let his body tense with his thoughts.

 

Seth didn't scream. He looked up Sam with wide hazel eyes, then gurgled a smile and waved a hand in the air.  Sam smiled back and let Seth grab onto his little finger.

 

"That's some grip you've got, Seth," Sam told his tiny charge. "Better be careful as you get older, or you'll crush somebody's hand in a handshake."

 

Michelle watched with a shocked expression. "He's never been that relaxed with a stranger before."

 

"So maybe you'll relax enough to get some sleep," Sam said. "We'll be fine."

 

When she hesitated, he said, "Go on. You won't do Seth any good if you're too tired to care for him."

 

She took a step down the hall, then turned back. "Wake me up if you need anything -- I mean anything."

 

"Good night, Michelle." He angled his head toward the hallway with a mock-stern expression.

 

This time, she got halfway down the hall before turning back. "There are bottles in the fridge, you just need to heat them for a minute."

 

"Don't make me carry you." He kept his tone light, but gave her a menacing look.

 

The look she gave him back was a challenge, almost a dare, and in answer, he took a step toward her. Her eyes widened before she turned and fled down the hall.  He heard a door close firmly.

 

"Well, that wasn't too bad," he told Seth. "Now let's see about getting you to sleep."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Michelle stretched herself awake and opened her eyes to find that night had fallen while she slept. She'd heard Sam talking to Seth earlier, the murmur of his voice helping lull her to sleep, but now the apartment was quiet.

 

She swung herself out of bed, intending only a quick visit to the bathroom before going to check on her son, but when she caught sight of her reflection, she winced. She hadn't bothered to change clothes, let alone shower, before she went to the store.  She might want to be thought of as an attractive woman, but for that to actually happen, she needed to make an effort.

 

Just once, she'd thought, she could get away with going out looking unkempt. Of course that was the one time she'd run into someone she'd rather not see her in that disheveled state.  Michelle shuddered at what Sam -- handsome, generous, kind Sam -- must have thought of her appearance.  Still, he'd offered to watch Seth, whatever she looked like, and she was grateful for that. 

 

She was also grateful that the encounter at the market hadn't been their first. Sam already knew what she looked like when she made some effort.  Now, though, she could take the time to freshen up before she relieved him and hope that he'd forget just how horrible she'd looked at the store.

 

The hot shower revived her as much as the nap had, and Michelle quickly smoothed her hair into a sleek ponytail before pulling on clean jeans and a clingy T-shirt and padding barefoot to the living room.

 

A smile tugged at her lips when she saw Sam lying on one side on the floor facing the couch, his large body effectively penning Seth. Seth didn't seem to mind being corralled, to judge by his intent expression as he pulled at one of Sam's sneaker laces.

 

"Sleep well?"

 

It was only when Sam spoke that she realized he was awake. More, he was watching, his body positioned so he could see the front door as well as the hallway where she stood.  The protectiveness it spoke of stirred memories of Seth's father -- memories she'd thought long buried.  But Sam was expecting an answer, and Michelle gave him a more heartfelt smile.

 

"Yes, thanks. You know he'll pull the whole lace out if you let him."

 

"He already has. Both shoes.  Twice." Sam rolled to sitting position, careful not to jostle Seth as he moved.  "It's not bad that he knows how to amuse himself quietly."

 

"Just surprising." Michelle crossed to sit on the couch facing them. "He wasn't any trouble?"

 

"He cried once, and I fed him. He cried again, so I changed him.  Can't guarantee how well the diaper will hold, though."

 

"Just tell me you didn’t use duct tape."

 

"The thought never crossed my mind. Crazy Glue, though --" he grinned.

 

Michelle had to laugh and for a moment she enjoyed the illusion that they were just a man and a woman getting to know each other. It was an experience she hadn't had before, and she chose to savor it now.  Seth's father had been a tornado in her life, one she'd been happy to get caught up in, hopeful that, like Dorothy, she'd be transported to a wonderland. 

For a couple of days, Michelle had enjoyed her wonderland of heated looks and hotter kisses, made all the more seductive by the danger they'd shared. She'd never felt anything like it before, and she was all too happy to ride that feeling to its natural climax when she'd climaxed in his arms, crying his name.

And then he was gone, as quickly as he'd arrived. It was her grand passion, and she'd counted herself lucky to have it so young.

She hadn't counted on a child, much less that her child would change how men responded to her from "attractive, desirable girl" to "woman with child in tow." Now, laughing with Sam Winchester, Michelle felt like that desirable girl again.

But it was just an illusion. Seth was real, and her responsibilities to him were real, and those had to take precedence over her own self-indulgent fantasies.  She had to end this moment now, before it went too far, before she let herself hope too much.

"Thanks again for watching him," she said. "But we’ve taken up too much of your weekend already.  You don’t need to stay."

Disappointment flickered across his face, and regret gnawed at her. Sam was the first man she’d talked to since Seth was born who wasn’t put off by a ready-made family.  And Seth liked him.  Shouldn’t that count for something?

It should, Michelle thought bitterly, and it would, if she were anyone other than who she was.

"It was no problem," Sam said. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I’d been wanting to talk to you for a while, actually."

"Me? Why?"  The amulet was supposed to discourage such attention.  Why wasn’t it working on Sam?  And why was she glad that it wasn't?

"Something you said in class a while back," he said. "You said we should treat reports of possession with respect.  I wondered what you meant by that."

Of all the reasons he wanted to talk to her, Michelle thought, it was about possession? "I thought it was obvious.  I just don’t think we should be making fun of them, like kids."

Sam regarded her with a serious expression. "I wondered if maybe the thought was the result of something more … personal."

His comment caught her off guard, and she responded without thinking. "That’s none of your business.  We’re not friends, and you have no right asking me personal questions."

Only when his eyebrows rose slightly did she realize that she’d confirmed his suspicion by not denying it. She’d have to be doubly alert for verbal traps with him.

She saw in his eyes when he decided not to call her on that admission. "Sometimes it helps to have a sympathetic ear, friend or not."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just that if you need it, I’m offering." Sam focused on retrieving his shoelace from Seth and re- threading it.

She should drop the subject. Michelle knew that, but she couldn’t.  "Even if it were, what kind of sympathetic ear could I expect to get?  Some psychiatrist thinking I’m crazy?  No, thanks."

Sam yanked his shoelace tight. "I’m not a psychiatrist, and I don’t think you’re crazy."

Michelle bit back the retort that a college student's opinion of her wasn't worth much. Once, she wouldn't have held her tongue.  Once, she'd been as sarcastic as anyone, and more than most.  She wasn't that person anymore, so she watched silently as Sam spoke a soft goodbye to Seth then got to his feet and retrieved his groceries from the kitchen.

He paused at the door, and his eyes were serious when he said, "Sometimes it just helps to know there are others like you out there."

Seth started to fret the moment the door closed behind Sam, and Michelle knelt to pick him up and cradle him close.

Taking the demonology class had been a bad idea. Or maybe a good idea with the unintended consequence of Sam Winchester.  She considered dropping the class, but that would only rouse Sam’s curiosity more than it already was.  No, she’d finish the class.  She’d even keep sitting next to Sam -- he had chosen one of the best seats in the classroom, after all, and she wouldn’t give up that advantage, however slight it might be -- but she wouldn’t respond to his overtures of friendship anymore.  She couldn’t, and still keep Seth safe.

-X-

So it was personal experience, Sam reflected as he walked back to his apartment. Michelle hadn’t said so outright, but she hadn’t denied an experience, either.  The question now was, just what kind of experience was it?  Obviously, she wasn’t going to tell him, so he’d have to do some research.  If there was anything a law student learned, it was how to do research.

For a moment, he heard his brother’s derisive snort. "Saturday night, a campus full of co-eds, and you’re doing research instead of getting laid."

Sam opened a beer while he waited for his laptop to boot. He had a name and an approximate age.  It would be easier if he knew where she’d come from before Stanford, but he didn’t and he wouldn’t waste time wishing for what wasn’t.  Instead, he gave silent thanks that most people didn’t live as far off the grid as his father and brother did, and set to work.

Four hours later, he had as many answers as he’d be able to get from a computer search. He considered calling Dean.  His brother was probably somewhere in the midwest, within easy reach of anywhere else in the country.   It wouldn't take much time for Dean to drive to Pittsburgh and do a little more research on Michelle Easton. 

Sam reached for his cell phone, then hesitated. The last time he'd spoken to Dean, two months ago, they'd argued almost as badly as Sam and their father had when Sam announced that he was going to college.  There hadn't been any ultimatums with Dean like there had with their father, but still the wound was raw and new.  Sam let his hand fall away.  He wouldn't be calling Dean anytime soon.

Sam finished the last of his now-warm beer, debating whether to pursue the matter further. Michelle was right when she’d said it wasn’t his business, but he hadn’t meant her when he’d talked about needing a sympathetic ear.  He needed it, and that need warred with his respect for her privacy -- the same privacy he’d just invaded by his search.

That he could excuse as simple self-preservation on his part ("Great practice for being a lawyer," Dean’s voice spoke in his mind. "Start with the rationalizations early."), but nothing would justify a credit-card scam and a trip to Pittsburgh over the next long weekend. 

"Face it, Sam," he said aloud. "You blew it."

Dammit.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The drawback to her amulet’s protection spell, Michelle thought, was that far too many people bumped into her when they failed to notice her. Since she’d reinforced that spell Saturday night, that effect had only increased.  She’d heard more "Sorry, didn’t see yous" this Monday morning than she’d heard in the last two weeks combined.

All the jostling was worth it, though, if it meant keeping Sam Winchester at a distance. He was far too inquisitive for her comfort.  And far too attractive.

She paused just inside the door to the demonology class and glanced around. Sam was already in his seat, head bent over his notebook.  He looked up, scanning the room again, but he showed no sign of having seen her.  Michelle smiled.  The spell was doing its job.

Getting past Sam and into her own seat would be another test of the spell -- one that failed when he shifted position in his seat just as she was stepping in front of him. She stumbled, and a strong hand caught her before she could fall.

"Sorry," Sam said. "I wasn't paying attention."

"It’s okay," Michelle said. "I’m used to it.  You can let go now."

He did, and she slid into her chair with a silent sigh of frustration. So much for sneaking past him.  Michelle waited for him to say more, but he returned to reviewing his notes, only occasionally glancing up to scan the room.

It was the result she’d wanted, so why was she disappointed?

Because Sam Winchester was the first man she'd met who hadn't run screaming when he learned she had a son. Because she was tired of being just a single mom and wanted to be noticed as an attractive -- she wouldn't call herself beautiful -- young woman.  Because Sam had shown a hint of interest in both her and Seth that might grow into something more.  Because she'd seen a chance, and before she could choose to pursue it, she'd shut him out.

With a silent curse at the direction her life had taken, Michelle opened her own notebook and focused on Lemieux as he called the class to order.

Today’s lecture concerned all the weapons rumored to be useful against demons and those whom they’d possessed, classified by type of demon. Lemieux didn’t appear to take any of them seriously, judging by the scorn and derision in his tone, but Michelle took careful notes.

Beside her, Sam did the same.

Lemieux concluded with, "Be prepared for a quiz on Wednesday. Perhaps even a mock exorcism."

Michelle groaned along with the rest of the class, and gathered her books to leave. She stood, only to find her way blocked by Sam’s foot resting on the seat in front of him.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Not just yet."

The last students were leaving the room in a gaggle around Lemieux, and she debated calling for them to wait for her, but that would defeat the spell’s purpose in a big way. Michelle let out an exasperated breath and resigned herself to talking to Sam.

Once the door had closed behind Lemieux, Sam let his foot drop to the floor. "How’s Seth?"

"Much better, thanks. Almost back to shooting hoops."  Why was she joking with him when she should be discouraging any interest?

Sam smiled, clearly relieved. "Glad to hear it.  He seems like a great kid."

"Most of the time."

"I wanted to apologize for crossing boundaries."

That surprised her so much she could only nod an acknowledgment.

Sam stuffed his notebook into his messenger bag and stood.  Odd that she was only now noticing how tall he really was.  Did he have a protective amulet, too?   If so, what was his experience with things that went bump in the night?  "I hope it wasn’t an unforgivable sin."

He looked at her, and Michelle realized he was waiting for an answer. She swallowed, and said, "Very few sins are unforgivable."

"What’s my penance?" Sam wasn’t joking, not by expression or tone. He stepped into the aisle and gestured for her to precede him.

"I’m no priest." Michelle stepped past him and started for the door.

"But you’re the only one who can absolve me."

Something in Sam's voice sent a shiver up her spine like she hadn't felt since her time with Seth's father. Michelle hoped he hadn't noticed.

She forced a lighter tone when she said, "Isn't prayer and fasting the traditional penance?   Maybe a dozen _Hail Marys_ and no beer for a month?"

"It should be something that matters to you," he said as they reached the door.

"No. It should matter to you, or what's the point?   What matters to you?"

Sam was quiet while he opened the door, and Michelle wondered what he was thinking -- and then wondered if she really wanted to know.

Before she could step into the bright Palo Alto afternoon, a hand landed hard in the middle of her chest and shoved her backward into the classroom. She stumbled into Sam, and he steadied her, even as he took an involuntary step backward.

"Finally. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this chance?"

Michelle stared at the man in front of her, uncomprehending. She knew him from their class, a football jock who sat in the front row and heckled all the girls who walked past him -- except her, of course -- but now he looked menacing, almost feral.  A dangerous light shone in his eyes, and she shivered again, this time from fear.

She'd seen that same look once before in her uncle's eyes, just before he'd tried to kill her.

"What chance?" Sam asked, and Michelle wanted to take comfort from how calm he sounded, but she knew he had no idea what he was truly facing.

"Chance at the bitch and her brat." The not-jock looked Sam up and down.  "Be smart, college boy.  Stay out of my way and I won’t kill you.  Probably."

"I’m not planning on getting in your way." Sam stepped to one side, deeper into the classroom.

Michelle stared at Sam. What had happened to the protective, watchful man who’d reminded her so strongly of Seth’s father?  She couldn’t see a hint of his existence in the apologetic expression Sam gave her.  She should’ve been angry, furious -- if not at him, then at herself for daring to hope again.  Instead, all she felt was resigned disappointment.

"Did a good job hiding," the not-jock was saying. His eyes had gone completely black, pupils, irises, whites.  "Took us a while to track you down.  You gonna admit it’s over, and come quietly?"

What choice did she have? Michelle knew how to exorcise a demon, had even memorized the Latin ritual for doing so, but she’d never complete it.  He’d kill her before she got past "Crux sancta sit…" and then there’d be no one between this demon and Seth.

All she needed was a distraction…if Sam had half the balls of Seth’s father, she might have had a chance. But no, Sam just stood there, his hands jammed into his jacket pockets.  No distraction in sight.  Her best bet was to go with this demon and watch for another opportunity.  Maybe once she got outside the classroom, she could yell for help…

"Well? I don’t have all day.  Take too long, and I’ll just kill you right now.  My orders don’t demand you be taken alive.  Just the brat."

Michelle took a breath and had opened her mouth to agree when something yellow flashed across her vision and into the not-jock’s face. And then he was screaming, his face wet and steaming.

Then Sam was wrapping something around the demon-jock’s neck, and the demon screamed again, struggling to get free.

"Go," Sam ordered. "I’ll hold him as long as I can."

"I’ll kill you," the demon snarled, twisting, but Sam held fast.

Just the distraction she needed. Michelle stepped forward, looking into those black, black eyes.

"Run!" Sam sounded a bit desperate. "I can’t hold him long."

"You don’t have to," Michelle said.   Her voice took on a deeper resonance when she recited, "Crux sancta sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux.  Vade retro satana, numquam suade mihi vana.  Sunt mala quae libas -- ipse venena bibas."

She finished, and a black cloud erupted from the jock’s mouth, swirled around his head, and then disappeared in a vortex of wind.

The jock sagged, and Sam lowered him to the floor, careful not to drop him. Only when Sam unwound the object he’d held around the demon’s neck did Michelle realize it was a rosary.

Michelle swallowed, the aftermath of the adrenaline rush leaving her swaying slightly on her feet. "I’d say you just negated any need for penance."

Sam tucked the rosary into his pocket and knelt to check the jock’s pulse. "We need to check on Seth.  But we’ll stop at my place first."

"Your place? Why?"

Sam’s expression was hard when he rose to his feet, and a jolt of recognition shot through Michelle. Seth’s father had worn the same expression.  "Weapons."

-X-

At least, Sam thought as he spilled salt across the doorway to his apartment, he’d have a story to tell Dean the next time they talked.

Sam capped the container of salt and turned to see Michelle pacing his small living room, cradling Seth in her arms. She hadn’t let go of Seth since they’d picked him up from her apartment.

"We’re as secure as I know how to make us," Sam said. Michelle looked up and nodded briefly. 

"I misjudged you," she said.

Sam felt his eyebrows drawing together. "Huh?"

"When you said you wouldn’t get in his way. I believed you.  I’m sorry.  I should have known better."

"No reason you should have known better."

For a moment, Michelle looked like she wanted to argue, but she smiled instead. "I should be thanking you.  Do you always carry a rosary and a balloon filled with holy water?"

"I’ve never carried a holy water balloon before in my life."

"So why now?"

"Gut instinct. And it would pass the school's no weapons policy." Sam sat on the coffee table and dropped the box of salt behind him.  "What’s going on?"

Even after what had just happened, Michelle didn’t answer right away. Her expression suggested she was debating what to tell him.

Sam forced down his irritation and tried to keep his voice calm. "I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m up against."

Michelle stood cradling Seth for a long moment. Then she took a breath and looked at Sam.  "There’s something different, something special, about Seth."

"What?"

"I had visits from spirits or demons all through the pregnancy."

"Visits?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Visits, encounters, whatever you want to call them. I just didn’t realize it at the time.  Who thinks that the guy you bump into going down the stairs is a demon, even if that guy nearly made you fall down the stairs?"

"You mean he pushed you?"

"Not that blatant. They were trying to get me to miscarry."  It was just a flat statement, and somehow that made it seem even more painful than it was.

"If they didn’t want Seth born, why go to all that trouble? Why not just kill you?"

"How am I supposed to know? I mean, it took me a while to realize that’s what they were doing.  There were just these random encounters, and I’d trip or stumble, and I didn’t think anything about it."

"What made you think something about it?"

"One day, an older woman bumped into me pretty hard. I was tired and frustrated and probably riding too high on the pregnancy hormones, and I turned on her and told her off pretty thoroughly.  For a moment, just an instant, her eyes went black. Demon black."

"What did you do?"

"Got real informed real fast," Michelle said dryly, and Sam had to chuckle. "And developed a sense of paranoia.  I used a midwife rather than a hospital, and I figured out how to do the spell to keep me unnoticed.  It seemed to be enough.  Until today."

Sam nodded acknowledgment, his thoughts racing. Seth and Michelle had targets on their backs, that much was obvious.  The question was why.  From what she’d said and what he’d observed, there was nothing about Michelle that would draw demonic attention.  Seth was too young to have done anything.  Which left …

"Who’s Seth’s father?"

"I don’t know."

"You’re not asking me to believe another immaculate conception, are you?"

Michelle laughed softly. "I meant I don’t know who he is.  I only ever knew his first name.  Pete."

Sam hadn’t expected anything like this -- whatever this was -- but he was involved now, even if he had sworn off hunting.

This wasn’t really hunting, a part of him argued. It was defending the innocent.  Sam’s gaze drifted to Seth, who lay sleeping on the floor where Michelle had finally put him down.  Seth hadn’t chosen any of this.  Seth’s only provocation was being born.

Sam couldn’t ignore the parallels with his own infancy, and suddenly he understood his father’s obsession, at least a little.

"Sam?"

He looked up at the question in Michelle’s tone.

"I’m very grateful for earlier."

Something in her tone made his eyes narrow. "But?"

"But I can’t impose on you anymore. It’s not right.  Seth and I will go, and you can forget all about us."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere, nowhere. Better you don’t know."

"You can’t run forever."

"Keeping my son safe is all that matters."

"They’ll just find you again. You know that."

"What other choice do I have?"

"Stay here. Let me help you protect him."

Michelle’s eyes widened. "I couldn’t ask you--"

"I offered."

"Why? Why would you make that offer?"

Sam stood and put his hands on her shoulders. "It’s not easy, living on the road, especially not with a baby.  Even with that protection spell of yours, you’ll be a target."

Michelle opened her mouth as if to respond, but Sam plunged ahead with the bigger reason. "And if you go, I’ll never see you again."

Michelle swallowed, and it was a moment before she could speak. "If we stay, you’ll be a target, too."

"A very hard target. I’ve hunted all my life. I -- we -- know what we’re up against, and we know how to fight them.  Seth will be safe.  I promise."

Michelle shook her head. "You can’t make that promise and know you’ll keep it."

Much as Sam hated to admit it, Michelle was right about that. But there was one promise he could make.  "I promise I’ll die before I’ll let anyone hurt him.  Or you."

For long moments, Sam thought she was going to object again. Then he felt the fight drain from her body, and she nodded.  "Okay."

"Okay?" He hadn’t expected her agreement so quickly.

Michelle nodded, and Sam caught the hint of moisture in her eyes. Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms.  "It’s okay," he murmured.  "You’re not alone anymore."

Neither was he.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Two years later…

Sam hated Halloween. Given how he’d grown up, what he knew really haunted the world, how could he not? This year, if the blurry printed form he held in his hand was anything to judge by, he might have to revise his opinion of the day.

"What’s this?" Michelle snatched it from his hand and studied it.

"Nothing much." Sam tried to sound casual. "Just my LSAT score."

"One hundred seventy-four out of a possible one-eighty, and you say it’s nothing much? I say I can only hope I do anything like that well when I take my CBEST."

Sam turned to wrap his arms around her. "You’d make a perfect teacher, so you’re bound to get a perfect score."

"I’ll be happy with passing. Congratulations." She tilted her head up to kiss him.

As always when he kissed her, Sam had to fight not to lose himself in it. Two years together, and it still felt new. He groaned when she pulled back.

"We should go out and celebrate."

"Or we could stay in and celebrate." Sam pulled her closer, suggesting the celebration he had in mind.

"We do that all the time. It’s lots of fun, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes a girl wants a change of pace." Michelle smiled and gave him another, lighter, kiss before turning toward the second bedroom. "Seth? Come on, honey, we’re taking Daddy out to dinner."

Sam smiled, listening to Michelle making sure that Seth's shoes were on correctly. It was a comfortable sound, one that suggested the childhood and family he'd never had. He let that feeling wash over him, soak in. Finally he named it: contentment.

"No room in the budget to take you to Mantra." Michelle's voice brought him back to the moment.

"An LSAT score's not worth Mantra," Sam objected. "That would be for graduating law school and getting a job offer."

Michelle gave him a long-suffering look, then ruined it by laughing. "Okay, then. Next choice -- Jessica told me about this great family Italian place not far from here."

"Sounds good," Sam said. Impulse made him ask, "Want to see if she wants to come along?"

"What, it's not a celebration if Jessica doesn't flirt with you?"

"You know it's nothing serious," Sam said. It was ironic that the first time he’d met Michelle’s former roommate was the day he was moving Michelle’s things out of their apartment and into his. It was even more ironic that if he’d met Jessica first, he’d probably have asked her out. As it was, they’d become friends. Flirty friends, but friends.

"It just means she has good taste in men. But I’d rather it was a private celebration tonight."

"Private is good." Sam picked up Seth and, once they were outside, swung the boy up onto his shoulders.  He might go bald, the way Seth fisted a hand in his hair to hold on, but Sam decided that was a small price to pay for moments like these.

This moment stretched into a couple of hours enjoying pasta and a bottle of wine. Seth tried to take Michelle's glass, and she responded by letting him have the barest taste of the wine, after which Seth screwed up his face and said, "Bad."

The moment stretched further, into putting Seth to bed, and then into the gentle lovemaking Sam savored. Finally, the moment stretched into sleeping with Michelle cradled in his arms.

-X-

Sam woke abruptly. That wasn't unusual, given the nightmares he'd occasionally had over the last few months, but tonight it wasn't a nightmare that woke him.  He lay still in bed, senses alert, trying to identify what had interrupted his sleep.

Just his, Sam noted. Michelle lay sleeping deeply beside him, and from Seth's room there were no sounds to indicate his son was awake.  So what had woken him?

Then he heard it -- a footstep in the living room. Moving quickly but quietly, he clasped a hand over Michelle's mouth and nudged her awake.

Before she could even try to scream, he breathed in her ear, "Someone's in the house. Go to Seth."

Michelle nodded, and Sam released her to slip from bed. It was, he reflected as he moved out of their bedroom, the first time he'd been glad for the presence of a four-year-old -- it meant he was dressed already.  Assuming pajamas counted as dressed, which he did.

Sam padded on bare, silent feet toward the living room, glancing back once to see Michelle at the door to Seth's room. Resolve settled in him, and he stepped into the shadows of the hallway, listening.

He saw a silhouette -- male, he guessed -- moving toward the kitchen, and he lunged forward to engage the enemy.

His opponent reacted with a fighter's reflexes, and Sam blocked a blow. For a few moments, neither one of them gained a clear advantage.  Then Sam landed on his back, his opponent kneeling over him.

"Whoa! Easy, tiger."

Sam blinked up at the face illuminated by the moonlight. "Dean?   You scared the crap out of me."

"That's 'cause you're out of practice." Dean grinned at him.

Sam just had to wipe that cocky smirk off his brother's face. Two heartbeats later, he had Dean pinned to the floor.

"Or not," Dean admitted. "Get off me."

Sam climbed to his feet. "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I was looking for a beer."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam repeated. The adrenaline surge from the fight was fading as anger took its place.

"Okay, all right. We gotta talk."

"The phone?"

"If I'd'a called, would you've picked up?"

Sam’s gut tightened. There was no way Dean had come all the way to Palo Alto just to talk.  Something else was going on.  Before he could ask what, he heard Michelle’s quiet voice.

"Sam? What’s going on?"

Instinctively, he turned toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. If he squinted, he could just make out the deeper darkness of her silhouette.  "It’s okay, nothing to worry about.  Just an unexpected visitor."

"An unexpected visitor who broke in at two in the morning?"

Sam blinked when Michelle turned on the living room light. "Michelle, this is my brother, Dean.  Dean, my girlfriend, Michelle."

Now that Sam’s eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see that Michelle and Dean were staring at each other wearing similar expressions of surprise.

"Pete?"

Michelle’s shocked inquiry made Sam’s blood run cold. He turned to Dean, hoping to find some denial, some lack of recognition, in his brother’s face.  Instead, he saw recognition.

"You’re a long ways from Pittsburgh," Dean said.

"So are you," Michelle began, only to be interrupted by Seth’s voice.

"Mommy? Daddy?  Why are you talking while it’s dark?"

Michelle looked at Dean another moment before turning down the hall toward Seth’s room. Sam could hear her talking in low tones as she tried to settle Seth back to sleep.

Dean cuffed his shoulder. "Way to go, Sammy."

"What?" Sam stared at his brother, not understanding the smirk on Dean’s face.

"Made Dad a grandpa already. Congratulations."

A dozen responses flitted through Sam’s mind, and he couldn’t focus on any of them. It was obvious Dean didn’t know about Seth.  Then again, Sam reflected, how could he?  From what Michelle had told him, she had only spent a few days with "Pete" -- certainly not enough time for either of them to have realized she was pregnant.

Was it his place to tell Dean the whole truth about Seth’s parentage? That was one action Sam couldn’t bring himself to rationalize.  It had to be Michelle’s decision, but he could correct part of Dean’s misunderstanding with a clear conscience.

"Seth’s not mine. Chelle already had him when I met her."

"Oh?" Dean merely quirked an eyebrow. "Guess you better get busy making him some brothers and sisters."

Who would also be Seth’s half-cousins. The situation was making Sam’s head hurt, and making him wish he’d paid more attention in his Sociology of the Family class.  But until he knew how Michelle wanted to handle this, Sam figured a distraction was the best option.  "What do you need to talk about?"

"Family business. Probably should talk about it in private."

"It’ll have to wait a minute." Michelle came into the room, balancing a not-very-sleepy Seth on her hip.  "Somebody won’t go to sleep until he says good night to Daddy."

"Hey, sport." Sam took Seth from Michelle’s arms.  "Mom couldn’t sing you to sleep?"

He felt Dean’s start of surprise more than saw it. Thankfully, for once, Dean stayed quiet.

"Mommy’s not as good at scaring away monsters as you are."

Sam bit back a grin. "I don’t know, Mom’s pretty good at it."

But Seth wasn’t paying attention. He’d noticed Dean and now the two were staring at each other with, Sam realized, identical hazel eyes.  The intense gaze lasted only a few heartbeats, and then Seth was looking at Sam again, no trace of fatigue in his eyes.

"Read me a story," Seth demanded.

"It’s too late to be reading stories," Michelle said firmly. "Just say good night to Daddy, honey."

"You go on to bed, and I’ll come in later and make sure the monsters can’t get in, okay, sport?" Sam asked.

"Okay, Daddy." Seth hugged him tight, and Sam’s eyes drifted shut as he held his son close.  In that moment, he knew he’d lied to Dean.  Seth was his son, at least as much as he was Dean’s, and Sam wouldn’t give him up without a fight.

Sam took a breath and handed Seth back to Michelle with a smile he hoped the boy wouldn’t realize was forced.

Dean stayed quiet while Michelle took Seth back to his room. When he did speak, his voice was quiet enough it wouldn’t carry down the hall.  "Seth’s four?  Five?"

"He’ll be five in December," Sam replied, his voice equally quiet.

Dean gave a noncommittal grunt but, despite their recent estrangement, Sam knew Dean was doing math in his head. He also knew Dean was smart enough to add two and two to get four.

What he didn’t know was how Dean would react.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Michelle lingered at Seth’s bedside, using those moments while Seth settled back into bed to calm her scattered thoughts.

She’d never expected to see Pete -- no, she corrected herself, Dean -- again. They’d had one adventure, shared one night, and that was all she’d ever thought they’d have.  When she fell in love with Sam, she bid Seth’s father a final, private goodbye and proceeded to look forward, not backward.

What kind of devils were toying with her now, that she’d fallen in love with the brother of her son’s father? And what would that father want with her or Seth after all these years?

There was only one way to find out.

With a final kiss to Seth’s forehead, she straightened and went back to the living room. The brothers hadn’t moved from where they’d been standing and both of them looked up when she came in.

"Is he mine?" Pete -- Dean; she had to think of him as Dean -- asked.  There was no accusation in his voice, just curiosity.

"Biologically, yes," Michelle said.

She didn’t know Dean well enough to read his expressions, but she thought he might be both pleased and uncertain. He looked first at her, then at Sam.  "And you two--?"

"Met two years ago," Sam said. "Do you want to hear that story, or is whatever you came to talk about more important?"

"They’re both pretty damn important," Dean said. "But the other’s more urgent."

"Spill," Sam said.

Dean looked at Michelle. "Gotta borrow your boyfriend -- it’s family business."

"She is family." Sam’s simple declaration made her smile, and when he moved to stand beside her, she wrapped an arm around his waist.  "Say what you came to say."

Dean gave them an appraising look before capitulating. "Dad hasn’t been home in a few days."

"So he’s working overtime on a Miller time shift," Sam said. "He’ll stumble back in sooner or later."

"Dad went on a hunting trip," Dean clarified, "and he hasn’t been home in a few days."

Michelle wasn’t certain which one of them had gone most alert, her or Sam. "What’s he hunting?"

Dean's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked to Sam in a silent question.

She heard the amusement in Sam's voice when he said, "Told you she's family. What's he hunting?"

Dean gave a small shrug. "Notes are in the car."

"Get them," Sam said at the same time Michelle said, "I'll put some coffee on."

-X-

Half an hour later, Dean finished the last of his coffee while Sam and Michelle argued about the pattern of deaths in Jericho, California, that had spurred his father to investigate and, in turn, had brought Dean here to Stanford to recruit Sam’s help in finding their father.

Dean hadn’t expected to find a son he hadn’t known about. And if that weren’t enough of a shock, his son thought of Sammy as his father. 

Our family tree’s got knots in its roots.

"You know you can handle this on your own."

Sam’s voice cut into Dean’s thoughts, and Dean responded without thinking, "Yeah, but I don’t want to."

It was only fair, Dean decided, that he could surprise Sammy a little, considering the shocks he’d had since he arrived. "So, you coming or not?"

Sam looked down at the stack of notes on the table, then back at Dean. "No, I’m not."

"You should," Michelle said before Dean could respond.

"I can’t leave you and Seth," Sam said. "It’s not safe."

"It’s been two years."

Two years since what? What wasn’t safe?  Dean fought to keep his expression neutral, though curiosity burned him.

Sam looked like he was going to protest again, but Michelle spoke before he could. "What if you were going after me?  Or Seth?  Wouldn’t you want Dean’s help?"

Checkmate.

Dean couldn’t help a moment of smug satisfaction. Yet another emotion he didn’t have a right to feel.  He and Michelle had spent a night together, but Sammy and Michelle were building a life together.  Dean had no right to feel any pride in her at all. 

"You play dirty," Sam told Michelle, then looked at Dean. "Okay.  I’ll go.  But I have to be back first thing Monday."

"What’s first thing Monday?" Dean asked.

"I have an interview."

"A job interview?" Dean stared at his brother, not sure he’d heard correctly. Surely their father was more important than any job.  Except hunting.  But that was the job, wasn’t it?  "Skip it."

"A law school interview."

Dean nodded, reluctantly impressed. He didn’t agree with Sammy’s priorities -- other than making sure Michelle and Seth were safe, whatever that meant -- but he could understand why Sammy would think that interview was important.

"We have a deal?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

"I’ll go pack." Sam stood and squeezed Michelle’s shoulder almost unconsciously as he turned toward the bedrooms.

"This is awkward," Dean muttered.

"I don’t want it to be," Michelle replied.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at her. "I haven’t seen Sammy in two years, and when I do I find he’s raising my son.  How’s that not awkward?"

Michelle chuckled. "Okay, point.  No more awkward than necessary, then."  She took a breath.  "I never expected to see you again, after Pittsburgh.  I didn’t even know what name to put on the birth certificate."

"What’s his name? Full name?"

"Seth Aaron Easton."

Dean turned the name over in his mind. "It’ll do."

"Do you want it to be Winchester?"

"Probably will be, if things between you and Sammy go the way they look like they’re going."

"Do you want it to be Winchester, whatever happens between me and Sam?"

Dean gave her credit for not sounding frustrated with him. Then again, raising a toddler -- and putting up with Sammy -- had probably made her develop a well of patience the size of the Pacific.

"Yeah, I do." Dean heard himself say it with some surprise, but found that he didn’t want to take it back.  He had a son, dammit.  The least he could do was give that son his name.  Regret stabbed through him at the thought that his name might be all he ever gave the child.

"I’ll amend the birth certificate," Michelle said.

"What’s he like?"

"More like you than is good for my sanity. Ready to take on the world with little more than a devilish grin and a whole lot of attitude."

Dean chuckled. "Apologies in advance for any premature graying."

"He has your eyes, and your smirk. But mostly, I think he has your heart."

"Yours, too," Dean said. "It’s not everyone who can look at the reality of what’s out there without flinching."

"Mostly, he takes after his father. Both his fathers."

"Yeah, about that--" Dean began, then stopped.

What could he say "about that?" It was clear to him that whatever he might have had with Michelle, had things been different, she now had with Sam. He couldn’t begrudge them that, and he sure wouldn’t try to break them up, but where did that leave him?  What kind of role would they let him have in Seth’s life?

Come to think of it, what kind of role did he want? What kind of father could he be, given the life he lived, the dangers he faced on a daily basis?

"Dean." Michelle’s soft voice made him look up.  "We don’t have to make any decisions tonight.  You and Sam go take care of business, and then why don’t you come back and stay for a few days?  You can spend some time with Seth, get to know him, and we can all talk."

"Yeah, that sounds good." He’d been sitting still too long, so Dean got up and took their coffee cups to the sink and rinsed them out.  He could spend all day in his car, never fidgeting, but less than an hour at Sammy’s table had him ready to climb the walls.

His thoughts returned to something Sam had said before. "Sammy said something about you not being safe?"

"Nobody’s ever really safe, are they?"

"Sounded like he meant something in particular."

Michelle studied him, and Dean had the feeling that she was deciding what to tell him. He fought the urge to demand it, claim it as his right as Seth’s father.  Damn.  He’d known about his son less than two hours, and already he was feeling possessive.  Must be something primal, he decided, left over from millions of years of evolution.

"Pittsburgh wasn’t the only adventure I’ve had. There was another, two years ago." Michelle paused, as though deciding how much more to say.  Finally, she added, "If it hadn’t been for Sam, neither Seth nor I would’ve made it."

"Glad he was here." Dean fought to keep his voice normal when all he could think was, It shoulda been me.

"So am I," Sam said from the doorway. He’d dressed and carried a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.  "But I couldn’t have done it without Chelle."

"You ready?" Dean asked.

Michelle rose from the table to give Sam a kiss. "Be careful."

"You, too," Sam said. "Don’t leave home without the --"

"Squirt gun. It’s only two days, Sam.  We’ll be fine."  Michelle turned to Dean and hugged him.  "You be careful, too."

Surprised, Dean put his arms around her awkwardly, patted her back. "I’ll make sure Sammy gets back okay."

-X-

Sam smiled at the sight of the sleek black Impala. It had been their father’s, but he’d passed it to Dean when he bought a truck.  If it were possible, Dean kept the car even cleaner and better maintained than their father had.

He tossed his duffel bag into the trunk next to Dean’s, slid into the passenger seat, and looked back at his apartment. Sam saw Michelle through the window, waving, and he waved to her as Dean put the car in gear and pulled into the street.

What if that’s the last time?

Sam scowled at the voice that whispered in his mind. It wasn’t the last time -- why should it be?  This wasn’t the first hunt he’d ever gone on, not by a long shot, and Dean had even more experience than he did.  They’d find their father and be home by Monday, he told himself.

Still, a part of him didn’t believe that. Sam chalked that up to the influence of his nightmares.  Maybe this hunt would help put those nightmares to bed for good.

"Squirt gun?"

Sam looked at Dean, frowning. "What squirt gun?"

"The one you were telling Michelle not to leave home without. Why a squirt gun?"

"It’s more convenient than a water balloon."

Dean raised an inquiring eyebrow. "There’s a story behind that."

So Sam told him about the encounter with the demon two years before, ending with, "We decided on squirt guns because they won’t burst in a backpack."

"Creative," Dean said, chuckling. "Who’d’a thought stocking the arsenal would include a trip to Toys R Us?"

Sam chuckled with him. There’d been lots of trips to Toys R Us since Michelle and Seth had come into his life, and only some of them were to stock their arsenal. 

"Weird." Dean’s voice came after a few more miles of travel.

"What’s weird?"

"Just wondering what the odds are that one person -- besides us -- would have two incidents in their life."

Dean’s casual observation set off a series of questions in Sam’s head. Two years ago, he would’ve pressed Dean for all the pertinent details.  Now, though, he limited himself to a single question.  "What happened in Pittsburgh?"

Dean turned onto the Interstate. "Not sure I should tell you, if she didn’t."

"I know about the spirit. I meant between you two."

"Thought that was obvious, given Seth."

"Come on, Dean." Exasperation tinged Sam’s voice, and he didn’t care.  "She couldn’t have been more than seventeen."

"I didn’t take advantage of her." Dean's voice held a sharp certainty that Sam wasn't sure he believed.  Did Dean mean it, or was he trying to convince himself? 

"If you say so."

"Seventeen's legal in most states. Besides, it's not like I was her first."

Sam’s fist clenched in his lap, and he had to fight the urge to let it fly at Dean. We’re doing eighty. If I hit him now, we die.  He repeated that over and over, like a mantra.

Still, it was almost a mile before his fist unclenched. The rest of his body was still tense, and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he stared out the window at the dark miles rolling by and tried to calm himself.

Beside him, Dean drummed a thumb on the steering wheel. "I didn’t take advantage of her. She knew what it was."

By the tone of his voice, Dean seemed to expect some kind of response, but Sam could only grunt.

It seemed to be enough, because Dean continued, "It wasn’t what you have with her."

Sam snorted. "How do you know what I have with her?"

He could feel Dean’s gaze on him even through the darkness of the car. "You have a relationship with her."

"So did you." And it would be a long time before he could look past that, Sam thought.  If he ever could.

"No," Dean began. "Well, yeah, I guess.  But not like yours."

The last thing Sam wanted was a discussion of relationships with his brother. Especially not the particular relationship in question.  And especially not when he was still one wisecrack away from belting Dean, no matter how fast they were going.

There was one way to avoid any conversation. He loosened his seat belt and leaned into the corner formed by seat and door, the way he’d done so many times before.  Only those times, it had been their father driving, not Dean.  Things had certainly changed.

Sam closed his eyes. "Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive."

 


	6. Chapter 6

"Wake up, lazy." Dean reached over to shake Sam awake.  His brother came awake alert, but relaxed when he saw Dean.

"Where are we?" Sam looked around with a frown. 

Dean glanced up. The gas station wasn't the worst he'd ever seen, not by a long shot, and he smiled as he shut off the engine.

"Beautiful downtown Calistoga, California. You need a pit stop, now's your chance."  Dean climbed out of the car and started pumping gas into the Impala.  He'd gotten good at finding the gas stations that didn't require payment first -- much more efficient than the others.  While the gas pumped and Sammy went to find the men's room, he stepped into the convenience store.  It took only minutes to grab food and drink and pay for his purchases.

"You want breakfast?" Dean asked when Sam emerged from the restroom, indicating the bags of corn chips and pork rinds he'd bought.

"Thanks, I'll pass. How much farther?"

"Hour at the most." Dean replaced the nozzle and secured the gas cap.

The first he knew of the punch was Sam's fist connecting with his stomach.   He doubled over, his breath expelling on a whoosh.

"What the hell was that for?" If it had been anyone but Sammy, Dean would already be giving back better than he got.  But this was his brother.  Sammy deserved a chance to explain before Dean pounded him to a pulp.

"What you said about Chelle."

"What'd I say about her?"

"You called her a slut. Do it again, and I'll kill you."

Slut? What the hell was Sammy talking about?  Dean replayed their conversation in his mind as he straightened and tugged his jacket back into place.  He winced when his words came back to him: It's not like I was her first.

He hadn't meant anything by it except to emphasize that he hadn't taken advantage of Michelle, but he could see how Sammy had taken that wrong. If their places were reversed, he probably would've, too -- and punched Sam right then, instead of waiting until they were safely stopped.

Dean hated apologies, both giving and getting them, so he just nodded. Sam stared at him another moment, then moved around to the passenger seat and slid in.

When he got behind the wheel, Dean felt that distance between them again, the one that had started when Sammy left for college, the one he'd tried to minimize by phone calls, the one that gaped wide between them after their last argument. For a brief while, earlier, Dean had hoped that distance was narrowing.  Then he'd had to shoot off his mouth without thinking. 

Words had made this distance. Maybe words could mend it.

"Seth a good kid?"

"Good enough." Sam chuckled.  "Though you being his father explains a lot."

"Yeah? Winning smile, charming personality?"

"Not picking up after himself, leaping before he looks ...."

"Kid's off to a great start in life."

Sam gave him a disbelieving look.

"I mean it, Sammy. You and Michelle for parents -- what more does a kid need?"

Some of the tension eased from Sam's posture, and for that Dean was grateful, even if his gut twisted at his own words. What more did the kid need?  What more could Dean offer him?

Assuming Sam and Michelle let him offer anything at all.

Dean squelched that thought immediately, dismissing it as the product of a mind still in shock that he had a son. Sammy’s sense of fair play wouldn’t let him shut Dean out of Seth’s life, and even at seventeen, Michelle had struck him as a sensible, rational woman not given to fits of pique.

There’d be a place for him in Seth’s life, if he wanted it -- and he did. The strength of his wanting a place surprised him.  All he had to do now was decide what that place would be and claim it.

Dean grinned at the thought of being the favorite uncle, the one who told the kid very sternly to mind his parents, but then gave him a giant bag of M&Ms when those parents weren’t around. He could do that. Hell, he’d have fun doing that.

"Dean?"

"Yeah." Sam’s question reminded him that he hadn’t started the car yet.  He turned the key in the ignition and savored the rumble of the engine for the briefest of moments before shifting into gear and pulling back onto the highway.

They had a long road ahead of them, and not just to Jericho and back.

-X-

"Look there."

At Dean's words, Sam turned from thoughts of Michelle and Seth to see flashing lights and uniforms. Dean was already pulling the Impala to the side of the road a few hundred feet from the knot of police and rescue workers that surrounded a small car on a bridge.

Dean rummaged through a box of IDs and selected one from the United States Marshal Service. Sam swallowed past a stab of uneasiness -- if the real cops realized the ID they were using was fake, he'd be an accessory, and any chance of law school, let alone a full ride, would be as dead as whoever had driven the car those cops were now searching.

But the ID passed muster long enough for them to get the basics of what had happened, even if Dean's smart mouth drew more attention than Sam would've liked.

"Quit being so rude," Sam told Dean as they walked away.

"They don't know what's going on."

"Neither do we."

"We've got a better idea than they do. And once we talk to the girlfriend, maybe we'll have more."

"Maybe." Sam slid into the passenger seat and leveled Dean with a steady look.  "But they're doing the best they can, and there's nothing to be gained by antagonizing them."

Dean grinned. "A little fun in an otherwise boring part of the job.  You need to lighten up, Sammy."

"You need to remember there're people depending on us. Getting locked up for impersonating an officer isn't going to keep them safe." 

Dean started the car and aimed it toward town. "They're not gonna lock us up for that.  Hell, the locals don't even bother to check."

But Dean's voice was more subdued than it had been, and Sam nodded, satisfied that he'd made his point.

Their talk with the sheriff's daughter and her friend gave them a solid lead, although the friend dismissed it as just local talk about a woman hitchhiker out on the Centennial Highway.

"Anybody who gives her a ride is never seen again," the girl said, and that led them straight to the library, where Dean sat down at the computer and started to search.

"Nothing," Dean said after a fruitless few minutes.

"Let me try."

Dean's fingers moved over the keyboard again. "I'm trying everything --"

Sam cut him off by grabbing the seat of his chair and rolling it away. "Such a control freak.  Look, I know research, okay?  And sometimes you can't go with the obvious.  Sometimes, you have to improvise."

Sam clicked into the search box where Dean had typed "female murder Centennial Highway," ignoring the smack on the head Dean gave him, and replaced "murder" with "suicide." One result appeared, and Sam clicked on it.

"Constance Welch," he said. "Her children drowned, and she jumped off the bridge." 

"Sounds like the bridge needs a real investigation."

-X-

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, his cell phone pressed against his ear, listening to a phone ringing in Palo Alto. Dean had left a few minutes before to get breakfast, and Sam took the opportunity to call home.

"Hello?" Michelle sounded breathless when she answered.

"Hey, Chelle. You okay?"

"Just got back from getting groceries, and ran to catch the phone. I was hoping it was you."

"Did something happen?"

"I miss you. How's it going up there?"

"Dad was here. He figured out what's going on.  It's a woman in white."

"You won't be in any danger from her, will you?" Michelle teased.

"Not for being unfaithful. But she took over the Impala last night and tried to run us down.  We jumped off the bridge.  I caught a handhold, but Dean fell in the river.  You should've seen him, covered head to toe in mud."

"The image of Dean mud wrestling is now permanently etched into my brain. Thanks."

"Dad was here. We found his hotel room."

"That's progress, at least. You know, Sam, I can call the office and tell them you had a family emergency.  I'm sure they'll reschedule your interview."

An incoming call beeped in his ear before he could answer, and Sam checked the display. "It's Dean, I'll call you later."

"Love you."

Michelle's soft declaration was followed immediately by Dean's terse instructions: "Five-Oh, Sammy, get out of there.  Go find Dad."

-X-

Dean slammed the pay phone back in its cradle. Something had happened to Sammy, and he didn't know what.  He did know where Sam was headed, though.

He dashed out of the phone booth to the nearest car, used the gun he'd swiped from the police station during his escape to break the window, tossed the gun and his father's journal that the cop had left lying in the wake of Sam's fake 911 call onto the passenger seat, and fumbled under the steering wheel for the wires. He'd never been more glad of the training in less-than-legal activities his father had given him than right now.

The engine hummed to life, and Dean scowled at it as he climbed inside. "Be lucky if this thing does eighty."

He slammed the car into gear and stomped the pedal to the metal. Two heartbeats later, the car jumped away from the curb and sputtered down the street.

Dean frowned down at the dashboard. "Okay -- no car deserves to be neglected like that.  I'm doing you a favor.  Now do me one, and get me to Sammy without dying on me."

He spun the steering wheel, pulling the car into an unwilling U-turn, and headed out of town. Sammy had said Constance was buried out at the house where her children died, and that's where he'd find his brother.  Sam had better be alive when he got there.  He had a promise to keep.

-X-

Dean left the car some distance from the Welch house. No sense advertising his presence unnecessarily.

He held his borrowed gun at the ready as he crossed the distance between the car and the house. An almost-full moon lit his way, and he paused when he saw the silhouette of the Impala ahead of him.

From this angle, he couldn't see inside clearly, and Dean moved forward cautiously. Then he heard it -- Sam screaming.  The sound chilled his blood and his finger convulsed on the trigger.  Once, twice, three times.  The driver's side window disintegrated and Dean saw the woman in white, Constance Welch, in profile, straddling Sammy, her fingers buried in his chest.  Another shot, and she disappeared.

Sam sat up, his expression determined. "I'm taking you home."

Sam gunned the engine and the Impala shot forward, crossing the distance to the Welches' house, then through the rotting wood walls and into the house.

"Sammy!" Dean ran to the passenger side, looked in.  "You okay?"

Sam nodded, panting. "Yeah.  Think so."

Dean opened the passenger door. "Come on."

Just as Sam climbed out of the Impala, Constance sent a sideboard slamming into them.  The heavy wooden piece pinned them to the side of Dean's car, and Dean thought that if he had to break his promise to Michelle, she might forgive him if he died, too.

Then he heard two soft, high-pitched, childlike voices. "Mommy.  You came home."

And then it was over, the two children having claimed their mother and finally gotten to rest.

Dean grunted and shoved at the sideboard that still pinned them. With Sam's help, he sent it tumbling over backward.  While Sam went to inspect the place where the three spirits had dissolved, Dean turned to examine the Impala.

"That must be where she killed her children."

"Yeah, probably. But if you screwed up my car, I'll kill you."

"At least you've got your priorities right."

Sam didn't know how right he was.

 


	7. Chapter 7

"You gonna stay a while?" Sam tried to keep his voice casual as the lights of Palo Alto gleamed in the distance, nearer than they had been a minute ago.  Despite his desire to follow the coordinates their father had noted, Dean was bringing him home.

"You think I should?"

"I think if you don't --" Sam broke off. He felt Dean's gaze on him for a moment through the darkness of the car.  He swallowed, and made himself say the words.  "I think if you don't, this will be what breaks us."

The only sound inside the Impala was Dean's AC/DC music blasting just below annoyingly loud until they passed the city limit sign.

"I don't want it to break us, Sammy. You're my brother."

"Seth's my son," Sam said. He would've sworn he felt Dean's flinch through the bench seat.  "But he's yours, too, and we have to figure out how to handle it in a way that doesn't hurt him.  Seth's my priority."

"Mine, too. And we don't have to tell him the truth just yet."

"Huh?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I mean, kid's going to be messed up if we tell him, right?"

"It'll shock him no matter when we tell him. And it's not just our decision.  Chelle has some say in it, too."

"Yeah." Another mile passed, and the opening bars of "Back in Black" bounced off the glass.  "I won't get in your way."

"Dean --"

"I mean it, Sammy. I may be his father, but you're his dad."  Dean pulled something from his pocket, handed it to Sam. 

In the glow of the overhead streetlights they passed under, Sam read the label on the small package. "Bazooka Bubble Gum?"

"I used to love those comics when I was a kid. Figure Seth will, too."

Sam handed the packet back to Dean. "I'm not sure a piece will fit in his mouth."

"More for me, then. Look, Sammy -- if I'd'a known, things would've been different.  But I didn't, and they weren't, and anyone with eyes can see you and Michelle are good together.  I got no right to screw that up."

"Would you?" The question was out before Sam thought about it.

"Tryin' not to. You can give him what we didn't have.  Me, I'll just be the eccentric uncle who stops in now and again."

"You will stop in?" Sam needed the confirmation, needed to know that it wasn't just words his brother said because Dean thought Sam needed to hear them.

"How else am I gonna mess with him, if I don't stop in?"

-X-

Dean parked in front of Sam's building. The apartment was dark -- as it should be, he reminded himself.  Most normal people, especially not moms with young kids, weren't up at two a.m.  He followed Sammy into the apartment and dropped his duffel beside the door.

"Chelle? You home?"  Sam called softly.  When there was no answer, he turned to Dean.  "She's probably asleep.  I'll get sheets for the sofa bed."

Dean grunted an agreement and moved into the kitchen. It'd been a long time since their last stop, and a beer sounded good.  College boys had beer, didn't they?

"Chelle!" Sam's shout made him drop the beer and dash down the hall.

Dean paused in the doorway to Sam's bedroom. Michelle lay spread-eagled on the bed, frozen in place, and even with Sam partly blocking his view, Dean saw the blood that covered the bed.

Anger shot through him. Sudden fear followed at its heels, and Dean forced himself to turn away from his brother, down the hall to the next bedroom.  Seth's bedroom.

His shoulders almost sagged with relief when Dean saw the bed was clean -- then they tensed when he realized the bed was empty. The memory of what had happened to his mother made him look up to the ceiling.  It, too, was empty and clean.

"Seth? Seth!"

Then Dean was back at Sam's bedroom, looking up. That ceiling, too, was empty and clean.

Sam sat beside Michelle's lifeless figure, his head bowed, and angry grief closed Dean's throat. Finally, he forced out, "Sammy --"

A prickling of awareness across the back of his neck was the only warning he had. Dean lunged forward, grabbed Sam, and yanked him off the bed just before flames engulfed it.

Sam fought to get back to Michelle's side, but Dean held tight. "We gotta go, Sam."

"I'm not leaving Chelle... Seth." Only then did Sam appear to remember his son and turn toward the other bedroom.  Again, Dean yanked him back, as the flames spread faster than any normal fire ought.

"I checked, Sammy. He's gone."

Sam went limp, all the fight leaving him. Dean wasn't sure that was an improvement over the rage Sam had been channeling, but at least it let him drag his brother out of the apartment.

Though from the expression on Sam's face when they emerged into the cool night air, Dean wasn't sure Sam appreciated the rescue.

-X-

Dean turned away from the fire crew chief he'd been speaking to and scanned the gathered crowd for Sam. He tried not to look at the smoldering ruin that had been Sam's apartment, but the dark hulk loomed in the light of the full moon.

Someone several inches over six feet shouldn't be that hard to spot, but Dean didn't see his brother right away.

"C'mon, Sammy," he muttered, "where are you?"

Then he saw Sam straightening from behind the raised trunk lid of the Impala. Something in the set of Sam's jaw, the lack of all expression on his face, sent a shiver of unease down Dean's spine.

"Aw, crap." The image of just what weapons were in the trunk and the damage they could do not just to spirits and demons but also to human flesh filled his mind, and he jogged toward Sam.

When he reached Sam, Dean saw that his brother was holding a sawed-off shotgun. He held his breath while Sam broke it open to check whether it was loaded.  Of course it was.  What good was a weapon that wasn't ready when you needed it?

"Talked to the crew chief," Dean said. "He said there was no evidence of any other body.  Seth wasn't there, Sam."

"The demon took him."

"Took him? Why?"

Sam gave Dean a dark look. "Why do you think?  To warp him, twist him, use him."

Dean had no response. All he could do was meet his brother's gaze without flinching.  He'd never admit aloud that doing so in this moment was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Sam snapped the sawed-off back to its ready position and tossed it in the trunk. "We've got work to do."

 


End file.
